That night, when I remember it again, I'll tell you
Of these stars embroidered on the velvety cloak, there, see?
Of a humble moon, dangling her skirt in the fog
She's eclipsing herself but brilliant still.
Safe in Guadalupe's mantle
In deep regard of the east, turning west instead
watching the horizon
waiting for the sky
to become ours, again.
Sit on my right, I said, while waiting.
your whole weight against mine
as heavy as my own skin
is how you felt.
As light as time's ripening fruit.
This is what we call nothing
because it has no name.
(C) Francesca Prada 1990 rev. 2007